


Stockholm Syndrome

by sara_skittles



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Color War, F/M, fucked up stuff, why tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-24 23:47:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16650199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sara_skittles/pseuds/sara_skittles
Summary: What's worse than getting caught entering a high security base camp?Getting caught by a deranged ex, that's what.Could this day get any worse?





	Stockholm Syndrome

AU

Art wasn’t sure how long she was held prisoner at the Red Army base camp. Weeks? Months? A year, perhaps? She didn’t know. Time was hard to tell in her cell. There were no windows, except maybe the double sided mirror on one wall.

She was never allowed to leave the room, unless she was called in for questioning. Food was brought up to her. She was provided with a bathroom consisting of only a toilet and sink.

She tried escaping several times in the first few months. She went as far as reach the final gate but never got past it. They weren’t kidding when they said this place was heavily guarded from basement up.

The Red leader hardly ever visited her. It was usually Paul or Patryck who takes her to the interrogation room. They pried information out of her through physical measures.

In her years in the battlefield, none of what they did made her squeal information.

When he did come, he made sure she went through worse.

The moment the Red Leader entered the room, Art could’ve sworn the temperature dropped a few degrees. He has his auburn hair styled in the same way she last saw him, if not longer. He strode with pride, his blue coat flowing behind him, his red hoodie worn underneath. A golden badge sat on his chest on the left side of his coat, the design more intricate than the others had; a sign of higher authority. His heavy boots echoed in the room and he stopped, standing a few feet in front of her.

He taunted her, messed with her, attempting to fill her head with radical propaganda; something she undoubtedly disagreed to.

Still, he never got what he wanted from her.  
She was sent back to her cell with more bruises than she usually got.

From time to time, he’d ask her to reconsider joining them to spare herself from the same terrible fate Jon had to endure.

The poor boy. He died without a warning; a civilian. He haven’t got a clue what was happening then, he didn’t even know who the hell Tord was. Too bad, Art liked him. He was the most tolerable out of Eduardo’s group.

’Go to Hell, Lawson’ Art spat.

Losing his patience at one time, he slapped her hard on the face, causing her to fall out of balance.

‘That’s Red Leader to you, peasant’ He spat back. ‘Do that again and you’ll be coming out of this room with missing limbs’ he said through gritted teeth, each word was laced with venom as he advanced on her. She cowered to a corner, but she kept her glare.

This wasn’t the Tord Lawson she knew. She searched his eyes for anything, anything, that could remind her of the man she knew. She’d take even just a glimpse of remorse. But she saw nothing.

For the past months, he hadn’t even acknowledged or even mentioned their failed relation. Tears pooled her eyes but she didn’t dare let them fall.

He was either really good at masking his emotions, or he just played her like an easy game of poker.

Either way, shit hurt like a motherfucker.

He wasn’t the man she loved. This was the Red leader. He was the Leader of the damned organization that caused the fall of Europe.

This man was vile, vicious, and merciless.

He killed people; civilians, acquaintances, enemies, colleagues. Damn, he even went as far as attempting to kill her and her friends, for God’s sake! Several times, might she add.

He looked at her like she was dirt. The corner of his lip twitched upward when he saw her glazed eyes. ’Besides, I’ve already been there." He finished.

She sighed and turned her head in shame.

Shame from weakness. Shame for her emotions. Ashamed that she loved him. Ashamed that she’d given herself so easily to him before all this shit started.

Ashamed that after his every visit, she still found herself searching for the comfort of his voice. Even when he was the reason she was hurting both physically and emotionally.

‘Goddamn you, Tord’ she spoke in a barely audible whisper.

Satisfied with her reaction, he turned to leave her with his henchmen.

He didn’t return until a fortnight later.

He pestered her. He kept telling her no one was coming to her rescue. She didn’t believe him at first, knowing that he was only trying to break through her walls, but after months of waiting and one final(and failed) attempt to escape, she had given up.

He watched her through the mirrored glass as she broke down in tears, cursing out her friends’ names as she punched the walls till her knuckles bled.

Fuck those arseholes for leaving her to die.

The Red Leader smirked.

He had her now.

After a year of isolation, he had finally had her burn every bridge she has. Art doesn’t have anything or anyone to turn to. It would be easier to convince her to join him now. But he couln’t just ask her right away. If he wanted her to trust him again, he would have to show her he was still human.

It was too easy.

All he had to do was to give her the attention and companionship she had missed for the past year; talk to her, rekindle old fires…

Pavlov her.

He’d been doing it for months now. The only difference is that now would be easier.

His visits became more frequent since then. In each visit, he came with a different story. He told her about battles he’d won and backstories of each scar he has from nail scratches to gunshots. He’d mostly just ramble on while she stares at a blank space in the room.

Art was confused at his so called bipolar tendencies but she listened, nevertheless. Not that she had anything better to do. The Red Leader didn’t mind her lack of vocal participation. He expected she needed time to adjust.

He stopped visiting after a few months.

Though she still spilled no information, she was taken out for confrontations less and the physical punishments went easier in time until she was no longer questioned.

To the Red Leader’s surprise, when he returned she started talking to him again. Not much to say, but she would let out a few comments and questions every now and then.

Step one, achieved.

This went on for weeks until Art started to actually converse with him.

A month later, when he asked her to join him again, she surprisingly agreed. It was then, the Red Leader decided it was time to move her from isolation to a bigger, much comfortable room.

She was much easier to manipulate than he’d thought.

“And here I thought, I was your prisoner” Art humored. She walked alongside Tord Lawson who made sure he’d be the one to take her to her new quarters.

It wasn’t much bigger than her previous cell, but it surely made better use of its space. Everything in the room was red, accented with dark wood. Atleast the walls had colour now.

She has a bed now too, a proper bed. Not like the beatdown mattress she used to sleep in. A table and a chair was next to it, with a few books Tord had figured she would enjoy. There was a closet, shelves, and a few trinkets on surfaces.

Tord Laughed, as he watched her walk aroud the room with a failed attempt at masking her amusement. “You still are, Kjærlighet” he said.

“I must be getting special treatment then,” she mused as she went over to the desk to inspect the books.

“Think of it as un upgrade, and look” he said, opening a door to reveal a bathroom.

Art didn’t bother to hide her surprise when she peered inside.

It was cleaner, tiled, even. Complete with a sink, toilet with working flush and cover, a shower and a bathtub. She grinned at the marvelous sight. A fucking bathtub! Dear God she was in a much needed bath.

The Red leader grinned in satisfaction at her reaction. He noticed her agitation when she looked over the tub and took the memo.

“I’ll leave you to it then. Your uniform is in the closet.” He nodded and went to leave her to her busines.

“Thank you” Art muttered, stopping him in his tracks. 

He turned to look back to her with a raised brow. Surprise was evident on his face.

“What?”

“Oh, I mean-” Artemis cleared her throat. She straightened her back and turned to face him, “I am honored to recieve your gratitude , Red leader.” She spoke in a louder, more formal tone, bowing her head as a sign of respect.

Tord had to admit, she handled her words well for a new recruit. Especially to a higher authority such as himself. Must’ve been her days at the camp, he figured.  
He walked out with his signature smirk plastered on his face.

Step two, done.

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a trial fic for a longger, more detailed fic I'm working on. I'll try to get it done and posted earlier but I'm trying to fix the plotholes and stuff. It gets political so I've been studying first before I post the rest so yeah. Thanks for reading!


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